


Ascending Arthur

by lackadaisical (orphan_account)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Het, Oral Sex, Pegging, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lackadaisical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur tries to act sure of himself, but Morgana's got him pegged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ascending Arthur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloodsongs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsongs/gifts).



> ArMor pegging was requested, and who am I to pass that up, especially when it lets me create titles on par with your average cheesy erotica?
> 
> This is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are blah blah blah okay whatever. Just skip ahead and read the smut.

When she makes the suggestion, Arthur scrunches his face in confusion. “Why would I even _nearly_ let you do that?” he asks.

Morgana huffs out an impatient sigh from above him. “To show your gratitude for how I put up with your complete stupidity every day, perhaps?”

The thing is, if Arthur were a bit smarter he wouldn’t question Morgana when his cock is in her grasp. Luckily for him, she isn’t _quite_ so cruel as he seems to think. And anyway, she happens to have use for his dick, so it wouldn’t do to have it damaged in any way. She’s selfish in that regard.

He looks ready to respond, but when she grinds her wet slit against his length he can only groan. She leans down and nips at his jaw. “And that, I believe, is another reason,” she murmurs with a wicked grin.

He glares, but it’s ruined by the pink tinge in his cheeks that’s barely visible in the candlelight. It’s adorable, really. “Morgana,” he says, failing to sound as firm and authoritative as she imagines he’s trying to be, “I am _not_ letting you stick anything in my arse.”

“Oh, so it’s fair for you to stick things in _mine_ , is it?”

“That’s—but—you’re a _girl_ ,” he says.

She snorts. “Yes, thank you for noticing.” She straights back up and positions herself, using her hand to guide him in as she sinks down. “You keep wanting to do it from behind. Is this—not enough for you anymore?”

“Mmm.” His hands are on her hips, gripping the smooth skin with his calloused fingers and palms. She loves the friction it causes when he touches her, so unlike the sensation that occurs when she touches herself. He closes his eyes. “God, I can’t see how it wouldn’t be.”

Satisfied with this answer, she starts moving on him in earnest. She would be offended by his refusal to look at her if she didn’t know that he keeps his eyes shut so he doesn’t come too early; he’s admitted before that seeing the way her breasts bounce when she rides him sends him right over the edge. As someone who loves fondling her tits, she can’t blame him. They’re rather magnificent, she thinks.

“So?” she says, panting. “What do you say? Willing to give it a go?”

This time, his groan isn’t one of pleasure. He opens one eye to squint at her. “Why exactly would you want to?” he grumbles. “I don’t see the appeal.”

She goes still. He opens his other eye as she licks her lips. “Because, dear Arthur,” she says, smoothing her hands over his abdomen, “I want to put you in your place. Punish you. Make you squirm and beg for me to fuck you harder. Go on—tell me you don’t want that.”

She lets out a cry of surprise as he sits up long enough to push her onto her back. Her hair spills over the footboard and he’s looming over her, breathing heavily. She stares up at him, not saying a word.

“I can’t,” he grits out.

Reaching up, she pats him on the cheek. “It’s all right,” she says. “If it helps you reaffirm your masculinity, you can pound me till I’m weak in the knees.”

He leans down and kisses her on the mouth, lingering. He’s always been the more sentimental one. “You’re terrible,” he says, but takes her up on the offer anyway.

By the time she redresses and lopes off to her own chambers, her pelvis is sore and she can feel his come still dripping out of her. The feeling of it is so gratifying that she sinks into a dreamless slumber.

 

It takes a while to coordinate. Their servants, bless them, are being more bothersome than usual; Arthur complains that Merlin has chosen now, of all times, to start doing his job _competently,_ and isn’t that just utter shit?

“Merlin, there will be no need to bring dinner to Arthur’s chambers tonight,” she says to the country boy one afternoon. She’s given Gwen time off till the late evening, and Arthur doesn’t have anything to do for hours, though because of his promise of an early morning the next day for a hunt, they have to get this done in the late afternoon rather than the night.

Merlin stares, nonplussed. He’s carrying a basket of herbs for Gaius, and is presumably heading to drop them off before tending to his prince again. “Why’s that?” he asks.

“He won’t be there.”

His brow furrows. As he slows his pace through the castle halls, she slows as well to stay with him. “Because…”

“Because he’s going to be with me,” she fills in. “You’re welcome to join us, of course. I don’t think Arthur would altogether mind.”

The boy’s eyes look ready to bug out of their sockets. “No, I’m—no. Um. Th-thank you. Er. My lady.” And with that he scurries off.

Morgana can’t help but smile at how shy and precious Merlin is. Maybe she’ll try breaking him in once she’s done with Arthur, she thinks. She can just picture him presenting his skinny backside to her, face buried anxiously in the sheets. The thought alone makes her giddy.

When she reaches her chambers, Arthur is already waiting for her inside. His hands are clasped behind him and his shoulders are rigid as he faces the window. She closes and locks the door behind her, but the thud and click doesn’t make him turn around.

“Can’t face me, knowing what I’m about to do?” she says teasingly.

He stiffens further, if possible, before turning to fix her with a narrow-eyed look. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, haughty.

She crosses the room and seats herself on the bed. He hesitates, then follows, sitting down beside her. It reminds her of when he was a virgin and she first invited him to spend the night with her. He’d been an awkward mess, stuttering and pacing, reverting to excessive propriety. She looks back on the memory fondly. Smiling, she says, “You trust me, don’t you, Arthur?”

His lips thin into a line. “God help me, I do,” he replies, a grudging smile making its way to his mouth.

She nods. “Then strip and get on your hands and knees.”

For once in his life, he doesn’t protest. She rummages through drawers while he sheds his layers of clothing. The first thing she extracts is a vial full of viscous fluid. The second is a long and thin masterpiece crafted from antler. Its surface is smooth and covered in ridges and grooves. The third item is a harness, all leather straps and well-loved clasps. There’s a slot at the front where the buckhorn monstrosity fits into place. She sighs as she takes the objects in hand, walking over to toss them on the mattress.

Arthur, who’s only just finished taking off his clothes, looks at the small pile and visibly cringes. “Are you _certain_ that’s going to—?”

“Perfectly,” she cuts in. “Relax and let me handle it. Things will go smoothly so long as you don’t…” She gestures vaguely. “But since you’re just standing there, could you help me undress?”

Him unlacing her dress isn’t as arousing as it used to be, but when he finishes she rewards him by turning her head for a quick kiss. Well—maybe not so quick, on second thought.

For all his many, many faults, Arthur is doubtlessly the best kisser Morgana has yet encountered. His lips are firm and demanding, and he knows what she likes but only gives it to her when he sees fit. Sometimes he bits down on her lip and draws blood, and fuck if that doesn’t turn her on like nothing else.

When she’s down to her underclothes, she reminds him to head on over to the bed and get in position, which he does begrudgingly. She walks over to the other side where the objects from earlier have been tossed, and, taking off her final pieces of clothing, starts to strap the harness on and slide the dildo in place. That task completed, she takes the vial and crawls onto the mattress to sit behind Arthur.

“Spread your legs a bit wider,” she says. “Arse up higher, too.” He mutters grumpily but complies, shifting so his weight is on his forearms. “Perfect. You’re doing a marvelous job, Arthur.”

“A bit less patronization?” he snaps.

She clucks her tongue. “Fine. Now, have you done as I instructed?”

Though he’s facing away, she knows, just _knows_ , that he’s turned scarlet. “Yes. I—made sure to clean it out.”

She hums her approval, reaching out to run her hands over his cheeks and spread them slightly. “Just remember, if it’s too much you can always ask me to stop.”

He lets out a long breath and then nods. “Right. Go.”

Knowing he’ll only tense up more if she drags it out, she leans in and runs her tongue along the outside of his hole. He does an impressive job of not jerking away or whimpering, but she can see him shudder almost imperceptibly. With slow, deliberate motions, she licks over it and, shallowly, into it.

The sound of Arthur’s breathing is the only thing that can be heard in the room as Morgana mouths at his puckered asshole, tongue darting in, teasing. Despite his previous reservations, he’s starting to push back into her, but she holds him in place as her tongue continues its lazy exploration.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps out.

She pulls away and sits back on her heels. His cock is hard against his stomach. Smirking, she reaches for the vial and pours the fluid into one hand, spreading it with the other.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” she says as she coats her fingers liberally. “Longer since I’ve done it to a virgin, at that.”

“I’m not a—”

“Oh, sweetheart, yes you are.” Before he has time to take offense to that, she eases a finger into his hole. Any complaint he may have had dies in his throat as he lets out a moan.

She’s gentle to begin with, moving her finger in and out of him, and when she adds another she hears him hiss. The slight shake of his head signals that he’s fine, so she keeps at it, pushing into the tight heat of his hole and spreading the oily substance in and around his opening. By the third finger, he’s shaking with something she knows isn’t fear.

Her own arousal has been growing steadily. She’s soaking wet and aching to have something in her, but this, she knows, takes priority. And she’s been dying to do this to him for ages, to see him trembling with shameful need, completely at her mercy.

She abandons him for a moment to tend to the dildo strapped to her hips, careful to cover the long and grooved surface with slickness. Then she stops, going still. “Are you ready?” she asks.

In an uncharacteristic bout of silence, Arthur just nods, bracing himself against the bed. He knows how this works by now, having done it to Morgana a number of times. She takes his hips to move him into the perfect position and he lets her, not putting up an ounce of struggle. Taking one hand off, she uses it to guide the buckhorn—slowly, carefully—right into him.

“ _Aaaaahhhhhh_.”

She stops, but doesn’t pull out. “Arthur?” she says gently.

“Fucking—god. _Fuck_. I’m—fine, just. Keep going,” he says through clenched teeth.

She does, pushing till it’s buried several inches deep and then stopping. She pulls out and thrusts back in—faster, but still at an easy pace. With each movement of her hips she goes a little deeper, a little rougher, and soon her thighs are slapping against his ass as she pounds into him.

What was first panting and quiet whimpering turns into an earnest moan. Arthur chokes out a string of curses between heavy intakes of breath. He’s grinding back against her, meeting her every thrust.

“Look at you,” she says, tightening her grip on his hipbones. “Not so royal when I’m fucking you in the arse, are you, Arthur? Imagine—imagine what people would say if they could see you now, bent over, ready to— _mmm_ —to come all over yourself.”

He groans. “Fuck, Morgana.”

“Tried so hard to act like you didn’t want it. But you’ve fantasized about things like this, I’ll bet.” Inspiration strikes. “Someone taking you from behind while you fuck me. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” When he doesn’t answer, she digs her nails into him and repeats, “Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” he pants.

“Yes what?”

“Are you honestly—? If you—expect me—to call you—”

“If you want the use of your legs when this is over, you’ll do as I say,” she snaps. “Understood?”

“Yes.” After a beat he adds, grudgingly, “Your Majesty.”

As a reward for his obedience, however difficult it was to come by, she reaches around and starts to beat him off. He lets out a muffled sound of surprise, and in seconds he’s coming in her hand and on the sheets.

When his orgasm has subsided she pulls out, making him grunt. She starts to take the harness off, saying, brisk and businesslike, “That went well, I think. There’s usually quite a bit more panicking during that initial penetration; I’m not surprised you took it so well, of course. Even if you hadn’t been positively gagging for it, I doubt your pride would have let you call it off.”

Arthur is sprawled out bonelessly on the bed now. She doubts he’s taking in a word she’s even saying, but it doesn’t matter. Once she’s tossed all her supplies off to the side, she crawls over to sit by his head, legs crossed. She sighs. “Right, come here then.”

He tilts his head to look up at her with a dazed expression. “I am not your lapdog,” he mumbles, defiant to the last.

She grins. “Not in the mood for a cuddle?”

He opens his mouth to speak but stops and frowns instead. “Did you…?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she says. “I can always diddle myself later.”

“Morgana, you know that’s not how it works.” He pushes himself up to a kneeling position, expectant. “Lie back and open up.”

She laughs and tries to protest, saying, “Arthur, really, you don’t have to. I’m perfectly all right.”

“That’s an order, Morgana.” His lips twitch from a smile he can’t seem to suppress.

Rolling her eyes, she settles onto her back and stretches her legs out, spreading them wide. He positions himself between them, hands cupping the undersides of her knees in silent indication; she takes the hint and pulls her legs up against her chest, exposing herself to him. Those rough hands trail down her thighs as he ducks down and, without further delay, starts to lap at her cunt.

She clutches at the bedclothes, holding back a cry. His tongue is pressing against her clit. He brings up one hand, and she’s so wet he can immediately push three fingers into her opening. Her heels dig into his shoulders as she attempts to bring him in closer, deeper.

She almost doesn’t notice when the thumb of the hand that’s fucking her moves to press against her asshole. That turns her stoic silence into a chant of “Ohgodohgodohgod” and “Yes, yes, Ar—”

When she cuts off, it’s not because she comes: the interruption is caused by someone opening the door.

In the ensuing silence, Arthur is still and Morgana is wide-eyed and Gwen has a hand clapped over her mouth in shock.

“I—” The servant girl looks to be at a loss for words. “It’s—I’ve—a message. From the king. Feast tomorrow.”

After a beat, Morgana says, “Thank you, Gwen. That—that will be all.”

Gwen bows her head. “M-My Lady. Sire.” She’s out the door in a flash, slamming it shut behind her.

Morgana dissolves into a fit of giggles. She can’t believe neither of them heard the key in the lock. And the look on Gwen’s face—it’s all so hilarious that her arousal has dissipated.

Arthur, meanwhile, buries his face in her bush, mortified. She laughs so hard she chokes.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god. I apologize to the world. Really.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [To The Brim](https://archiveofourown.org/works/737706) by [bloodsongs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsongs/pseuds/bloodsongs)




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